cruel intentions
by Cela Fille
Summary: in which derrick harrington finds himself in the middle of the briarwood soccer field in a headlock while cam fisher holds him back from rabidly destroying anything he could get his hands on. oh, the things boys do for some action. au.


hello readers :)

just a random little humor oneshot- some mature content, but not anything explicit.

enjoy!

* * *

**c r u e l . i n t e n t i o n s **

_You're a chance taker, heartbreaker,_  
_ Got me wrapped around your finger_

- heels over head ; boys like girls

Derrick Harrington was in the middle of the Briarwood soccer field in a headlock with Josh Hotz while Cam Fisher held back his thrashing arms to stop him from rabidly attacking Kemp Hurley and destroying anything he could get his hands on.

--

It all started when Claire Lyons told you that you weren't getting laid until the Tomahawks won a game.

If that wasn't motivation, you don't know what was.

--

( See this whole thing is kind of a cruel joke because the Tomahawks hold the record for most consecutive losses. Like, ever. The last time they won a game was like, in 1965. )

--

The first thing you do is warn the team that if they don't win, they're all getting castrated.

Because fuck, if you can't use your nads, they sure as hell can't use theirs.

They lose anyway and it takes your willpower (and a shitload of duct tape, courtesy of Cam and Josh) to not commit first-degree murder.

--

"Nice game, Derrick," Claire says, smiling like she's not some sort of sadistic siren who is depriving you of your manhood. "You guys did really well."

"We lost," you say in a hollow tone and if nothing, her smile gets brighter.

"I know. But you still did great. Better luck next time, 'kay?"

She waggles her fingers and sashays to Massie Block's Range Rover, blowing you kisses along the way.

If you didn't win the next game, someone was going to pay.

--

Cam twists his ankle at practice.

He's, like, the only decent scorer on the time and instead of buying him chocolates and balloons like the other guys, you threaten to break his whole body if he doesn't get better before the next game.

The doctor says that he can't play soccer for another three months at least.

You end up having to be forcibly removed from the doctor's office, screaming and cursing like a homicidal nutcase.

--

You literally beg Dempsey Solomon to join the team again.

"Nah, man," Dempsey says. "I have the lead in _Rent _and I really don't have time for practices and games. Sorry, dude."

You end up promising to do his math homework the next two months, front-row tickets to see _Les Miserables _and setting him up with that cute redhead in your Gym class.

Oh, the things you did for some action.

--

You lose again.

The guys have to literally tie you in a straight-jacket because you nearly annihilate Kemp for letting in the goal that cost you the game when he subbed for you.

Coach warns you that such behaviour could get you kicked off the team.

It's doesn't actually seem like a such a bad idea.

--

You decide to go for the pity reverse-psychology act.

So when you and Claire are making out in the back of your car, her car, the empty stairwell, the stacks of the library, the hallway, the girls' locker room, the boys' locker room, in the back of the auditorium, the hood of Cam's car (_take that, stupid ankle-twister_), the science classroom after school, you pull away during a particularly heated moment with an expression of tortured restraint.

"Listen Claire," you say softly, stroking her slender arm tenderly. "It's just.. things are getting really hot and I just don't feel it's possible for us to do this when we have this whole no-sex till the soccer team wins thing."

( Which translates to: _So let's screw this fucked up deal/bet/whatever the hell it is and just screw each other instead, okay?_ )

"Oh, D," She widens her ocean-blue eyes and bites her slightly bruised bottom lip innocently. "I had no idea what this deal was doing to you..."

You can almost taste sweet victory...

"... so we should just stop messing around- period. Then you won't feel tempted," she finishes.

You should really just learn to keep your mouth shut.

--

You're seriously considering transferring. Maybe then you could actually win the game- and the girl.

The other option is to sabatoge the other team.

Sabatoge it is, since you don't really want to leave Briarwood- besides, you'd barely ever see Claire anymore.

You nearly get suspended for trying to let air out of the tires of the cars of the opposing players with ominous Post-It notes that say: Throw the game or die.

But you lose again anyway and end up giving Plovert a black eye when he brags about how he and his girlfriend Olivia Ryan were finally going to do the deed that night.

--

The scores 2-2.

Twenty seconds left of the game.

Dempsey has the ball and kicks a beautiful cross from left-field to Josh, who's smack-dab in front of the goal.

It's perfect- not a defender in sight and a clear shot at the goal and you catch Claire's face in the crowd of fans, a sloppily painted "#1" on her rosy cheek, courtesy of yourself and feel euphoric. Finally! Hotz would score and so would you... heh. Because the only thing keeping her clothes on was your team but all of that would change tonight. You force yourself to tear your eyes away from her and prepare yourself to see the goal that would make history.

So when Josh trips over a daisy or a shoe lace or whatever the hell it was, successfully _failing _to make the shot, you sink to your knees and howl like a coyote on a full moon.

--

"Ohmigod, Derrick, did you hear? Someone found Josh in the boys bathroom, tied to a toilet seat with a jumprope and maple syrup poured all over his head," Claire says in a stunned voice, doe-eyes wide with surprise and a ton of other emotions you don't bother to interpret.

"No, I didn't babe, but you can tell me about on the way to class..." you respond with mild interest, throwing an arm across her shoulder and discreetly wiping the traces of maple syrup on your hands onto some random kid's backpack.

--

None of the guys (except for maybe Dempsey to tell you to stop acting like a sex-crazed psychopath) talk to you at practice anymore but you don't care. You'd probably kill them all if they even tried.

Instead, you entertain yourself with _thoughts_ of hitting Josh on the head with a hammer or strangling Kemp till he turns purple and various other plans for murder.

It's not as good as the real thing but still. Calmed your nerves.

--

"Let go of me, you psycho-"

"Shut up, Claire. It's just me, Josh and Dempsey."

"Oh, hi Cam. Hi Josh. Hi Dempsey. Great game so far, guys. You're doing really well-"

"Cut the crap, Claire. Listen, if I have to hear Derrick whine like a freaking twelve year old about how he's never going to get in your pants, I swear to god, I will kill him. And you."

"Wait-"

"I don't think you understand the situation very well, C. He's planning on killing the rest of the soccer teams in Westchester county just so that we'll win by default."

"And he'll land his desperate ass in jail."

"Guys, I never meant for this to become so bad. He was always so calm around me..."

"Well, you haven't seen him in action. I nearly died last week when I missed that goal when we played Hotchkiss. Now listen to me: I don't care if we win or lose- if you don't put out after this game, the three of us will hunt you down."

"Uh, okay..."

"Are we clear? Sweet. Now let's get back to losing that game."

--

The Tomahawks win that night.

--

( Cam makes the entire team swear not to tell Claire or Derrick that they paid the other team to lose. )

--

"Derrick, I'm so sorry. I had no idea how crazy this whole thing was making you," Claire whispers against your lips the next morning.

"S'okay," You run your hands through her tangled gold waves and kiss her hard, replaying the events of the previous night through your head with a satisfied smirk.

"But you know, it wasn't that bad of an idea. I mean, you guys won a game right? You made soccer history!" She smiles brightly and pulls away. You roll your eyes before attacking her lips again.

"Uh, whatever. Screw soccer. Stupidest sport ever," you mumble, your hands roving from her hair to her arms to her waist.

"You know, maybe I should use the same threat to get you to get better grades."

"Ahahahahahaha- no."

"..."

"Wait, you're not serious, are you? Oh hell, no. Claire!"

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that's it :)

review, please?


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